What a lovely morning I was having. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and I only had two stress dreams the night before. I was sitting on my living room couch with a chamomile tea in hand and a rubbery Rx bar that I pretend to enjoy for my health in the other. I was ready to get productive. Maybe Gutmann’s wellness initiatives were working after all.

Then it was time to check my six email accounts and tackle some stupid shit that people, for whatever reason, needed my help with. I supposed I should also clean out my inbox and delete some emails from Forever 21 and Urban Outfitters that I never read yet refuse to stop receiving.

That was when I saw it. That one subject line of that one email that made me question everything: my PNC bank online statement was ready for me. I thought I was ready to conquer the day and everything that came with it. However, I had to ask myself: was I ready for my PNC bank online statement?

Ghosts of transactions past fluttered through my head: Chipotle, DK Sushi, the yoga studio membership I have yet to use, extremely necessary toiletries... They and countless other money moves were documented on my PNC bank online statement. I knew, yet I could not accept. Why was I recruiting for private wealth management if I can’t even manage my own (lack of) wealth? Why do I buy every meal I consume? Why is PNC trying to shove it up my ass even harder than it already was?

Well, there it was. First L of the day. Will not be my last. Morning officially downgraded to subpar. Fuck you, PNC.